


This Is The Day Your Life Will Surely Change

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's Spideypool Bingo Oneshots [9]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Attempted Murder, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood and Violence, Crying, Drowning, Groundhog Day, Identity Reveal, If you only read one work by me, M/M, POV Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Secret Identity, Spider-Man Identity Reveal, Spiderman/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics) Spoilers, Spideypool Bingo 2020, Strangulation, Surprise Kissing, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Wade Wilson Loves Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Spideypool Bingo prompt: [Time Loop]Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: [Time Loop]Every morning, Peter wakes up and goes to work. And every morning, Wade kills him. And then the time loop starts the following day. But how can Peter break the loop? Or is he going to keep getting weaker and weaker until one morning, he doesn't wake up from the latest murder attempt?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: MissMoochy's Spideypool Bingo Oneshots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813951
Comments: 40
Kudos: 469
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, The Best of the Best MCU Fics





	This Is The Day Your Life Will Surely Change

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so in the Joe Kelly comics, there was a storyline where Otto Octavius started an organisation called Parker Industries. Otto was possessing Peter’s body when this happened. When Peter got his body back, he kept the company running but stopped making it do questionable stuff. Wade, not knowing that Peter and Spidey are the same dude, decided this company was evil and killed Peter. That’s all you need to know to get this fic.

**DAY 1**

**Peter Parker was murdered at 09:26 on Thursday 10th August. The day started blandly enough: he awoke to his radio alarm (today, it played _This Is The Day_ by _The The_ ) at 07:45 am. He sleepily shuffled into the shower. He got shampoo in his eyes. He had cornflakes and a glass of orange juice for breakfast. He took a cab to work.**

Ever since Peter had regained control of his body from Otto Octavius, it had taken some time to wrap his head around the new life he had. While assuming Peter’s identity, Otto had created a company from the ground-up, calling it Parker Industries. It had been quite a revelation for Peter. He’d gone from living in a pokey studio apartment to living in a luxurious penthouse. He’d gone from being a poorly-paid photographer to being one of New York’s youngest CEOs.

For the first time in his life, Peter had wealth. He had success and a well-known reputation. For the first time in his life, he had power. Which meant a lot more responsibility.

It had taken a lot for Peter to agree to let his hair down last night. Wade had been insistent, and Peter was trying to give their budding friendship a chance. He knew Wade needed a break, too. The mercenary had recently gotten a new obsession. He believed that Peter Parker, of Parker Industries, was evil. He’d told this to Spider-Man many times. And yes, the solution was right there in front of him. If Spider-Man wanted to convince Wade of Peter’s innocence, all he would have to do is take off his mask. It would be the only fair thing to do, right? After all, Peter knew Wade’s name. Wade had gladly shared it with him. He’d even introduced Spider-Man to his daughter. So, why couldn’t Peter trust him?

Whatever. Peter had to get to work, he’d need to hustle his butt out the door or risk being late. So, he called a cab and set off.

* * *

He walked in, greeted Anna Maria, accepted the coffee she thrust at him (“You look like you need a big shot of caffeine, Peter!”), and entered his office. At least, he didn’t have to make any public appearances for a while. That was one area where he fell down, as a CEO. He had no charm for the cameras and no patience for the paparazzi.

He was barely fifteen minutes into his workday (sipping coffee and trying to respond to the zillion emails in his inbox) when he heard sounds of a commotion. And right on cue, he felt that tell-tale tingle running down his nape to the base of his spine. 

He’d barely pushed his chair back so he could stand when he heard it. Anna Maria’s, shrill, fearful voice begging somebody and heavy, stomping boots.

He’d left his suit at home. He’d been swamped with an increasing workload in recent months, and it hadn’t left much time for patrol. Who could this be? He steeled himself, clenched his hands into fists

Deadpool strode in, black and red all over, and Peter heaved a sigh of relief. He could handle Deadpool. But he couldn’t let on that he was Spider-Man. As far as he knew, this was a stranger.

“What do you wa—” he started but the gun came out of nowhere and everything went **black.**

* * *

**DAY 2**

_“Well you didn't wake up this morning 'cause you didn't go to bed, you were watching the whites of your eyes turn red—”_

Peter threw out a shaking arm to switch off the alarm. The music cut out immediately and he flopped back on the pillow. Ugh. He had a crushing headache, and the music felt like a drill as he’d awoken. He lay there for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling. Every thought hurt, as if it occupied physical space in his aching brain. That had been a crazy dream. Actually, it was more of a nightmare. Deadpool wouldn’t kill him. Okay, they’d had some tense moments in their friendship in the past, and Deadpool had pranked him and screwed him over at times…but murder? Unthinkable. They say that when you dream something, it shows insight into what you were thinking about before you went to sleep. Peter couldn’t recall going to bed last night. He had no idea what he’d been thinking about.

At least some problems were easily solved. He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and wandered off in search of aspirin.

His morning routine was eerily similar to his dream, except he kept his eyes closed when he showered so he didn’t get shampoo in them. When he called the cab, it looked like he had the same driver as the one from his dream. Perhaps, he’d met the driver before and she’d somehow bled into his dreams. She was fine, she was harmless, silently driving him to work. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. On the whole way there, his spider-sense battered at his fraying nerves, and by the time the car pulled up outside that familiar building, his thumping headache had returned in full force.

He’d barely walked in, nodding at the receptionist when Anna Maria appeared. Peter stared. In his dream, she’d been wearing a cream pantsuit and today, she was wearing the exact same outfit. That wasn’t like her. Perhaps she’d slept over at a friend’s house and hadn’t had time to go home and get changed? He dazedly accepted the coffee she handed to him.

“You look like you need a big shot of caffeine, Peter.”

“Wh-what did you say?”

“Coffee? Caffeine? To help you wake up? Are you feeling alright? If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were hungover.”

“I’m okay, I’m just…I had a nightmare. It stills feels…fresh. In my head.”

Her face softened as she looked up at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Well, the worst part’s over. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

He smiled wanly, inhaling the beautifully rich smell of hot coffee. “No, I’ll be fine, thanks. This is just what I need.”

She smiled at him and turned to leave but as he gazed at the back of her head, he thought of something. “Hey, Anna Maria?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s that French expression that means when something new feels familiar? I know the phrase, it’s on the tip of my tongue but my head feels a bit fuzzy at the moment.”

“Déjà vu. Do you know what it means if you keep experiencing déjà vu?”

“Tell me?”

“It means you need a vacation!” she smiled and walked away.

Peter smiled again, and sipped his coffee. He felt better already.

* * *

Peter groaned, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. The white glare of the computer screen was piercing his eyes and his brain still ached. All he could think about was Deadpool’s masked face and the barrel of the gun pointing right at him. He had to get his head in the game, this was ridiculous. Wade wasn’t going to kill him. Wade couldn’t even text Spider-Man without sending him a dozen kissy-face emojis. The guy’s a pussycat, deep down.

His skin tingled with alarm, his super-senses alerting him to a hidden danger. Peter stood up slowly and did something he never usually did. He hid.

“Please! Don’t go in there! S-sir!” Anna Maria’s panicky voice sounded unnaturally high.

The stomp of heavy leather boots. So familiar.

Peter crouched under his desk, his head in his hands, listening to Anna Maria try to reason with the merc. He had to resist the urge to march in there and throw his body in front of hers. Deadpool would never hurt her, not unless she tried to attack him. He was after Peter Parker, the ‘criminal mastermind’ that Wade thought he was. And Wade wouldn’t kill somebody unless he was pretty sure they were evil.

Wade must have growled some vague threat to her because she took off running. He felt hopelessly cowardly, squatting under the desk, waiting for the gavel to fall.

And there is was. The gavel, sealing Peter’s fate.

The desk was a sleek mahogany antique, more lux more than the IKEA-made, plywood disasters he used to work at. Many a night had been spent, poring over a scientific textbook as a student, the rickety table beneath his hands. But this desk, it was the table of a successful CEO. And he was crouched under it like a child expecting a scolding. Wade had bigger plans than wagging his finger and giving him a tongue-lashing. This wasn’t right. It felt real. It didn’t feel like a dream. But last night’s dream had felt just as real as this.

Wade had entered his office. Those were his black-and-red boots clomping around. Peter couldn’t see them, blocked by the table, but he was able to picture them perfectly. Stupid, heavy boots.

Wade walked a lazy circle around the room, taking in everything. He had his katana out and was dragging it along the wall as he walked the perimeter. Peter held his breath, biting his fist. He just had to think of a plan. He couldn’t use his powers but maybe he could find something to distract Wade? Just long enough to escape. Then, he could evacuate his workers. Although, perhaps they had already fled, alarmed by Anna Maria’s scream. Had she warned them? She didn’t know Peter was here. She thought he was safe.

Something tickled his leg and his heart clenched painfully, but then he realised it was his phone vibrating in his jacket pocket. No, shit, don’t. He painstakingly withdrew it from his pocket, seeing Anna Maria’s name flash on the screen. He rejected the call.

Wade was still shuffling about the office. He’d stopped for a long moment at one of the walls. Without even seeing him, Peter knew what he was looking at. A photograph of Peter and May, just after his college’s graduation ceremony. He was still wearing the robes and cap, and he had one arm thrown over her shoulder. Her thin face was lit up with pride, her smile had been beautiful. It was so rare that she smiled like that. His eyes pricked with tears.

His phone buzzed again. _Anna Maria._ Peter thumbed at the phone desperately, but Wade’s footsteps were growing closer. He glanced up from the screen to see two red-and-black boots. They drew to a halt, inches away from his face.

Wade let out a sigh. “Hmmm. I thought I heard a little bumblebee buzz-buzzing just now. But it must have been my imagination.” He grabbed the chair and sat down. Peter swallowed, his throat closing on air. Wade’s legs were like tree-trunks, huge and unyielding, blocking out the light. He couldn’t get past them without alerting the merc. _Looks like I’m stuck here until he leaves,_ he thought. At least it gave his employees time to flee. Wade stretched out his legs and Peter shrank back against the inside of the desk, pressing himself to it and sucking in his stomach.

One of Wade’s clunky boots jiggled under the desk, bopping along to some internal beat. He did that a lot. The gesture was so familiar that it made Peter’s heart hurt. This was his friend. He was hiding from his friend.

Wade was fidgeting, obviously waiting for Peter. Opening drawers, rolling things around on the desk (it sounded like Peter’s fountain pens) and drumming his fingers impatiently. Peter wondered how long Wade planned to sit there. Perhaps he was planning to swivel the chair so that it faced the window, because then he could do the Bond villain reveal. “I’ve been expecting you, Mr Bond!” and all that. It was the kind of stunt he’d pull.

Wade’s hand crept under the desk to his own thigh and Peter’s mind briefly flashed to a place it really shouldn’t explore. He hoped Wade wasn’t planning on jerking off at his desk. But instead, Wade withdrew a knife from a holster on his leg, a holster Peter hadn’t even noticed, cleverly hidden by the many straps and pouches on his suit. The blade glinted in the gloom of the desk but it quickly disappeared. And then Peter heard scratching. Oh. Wade was scratching the knife on his beautiful, mahogany desk. Somehow, this was almost more insulting than the hit. At least, Wade thought he was making the world a better place by killing an ‘evil mastermind’ or whatever he thought Peter was. Scratching up an antique desk? That was merely petty vandalism.

Wade cursed as his finger slipped and then the shiny metal knife slipped down, landed under the desk. Peter held in his gasp. _The knife._ It had landed right by his fingers. He could pick it up. Use it to defend himself. Or use it to scare Wade away. He just had to stretch out his fingers and touch it…

But Wade was leaning down, more of his torso coming into view and his gloved fingers were outstretched, seeking out the knife and Peter knew that any second, he was going to see that ghoulish mask staring down at him.

He had only had one chance.

Just as the bottom of Wade’s mask appeared under the desk, Peter gave him an almighty shove, using every last dreg of super strength. Wade fell back, limbs flailing, getting hopelessly entangled in the wheels of the chair. Peter leapt up and took off running. Get everybody out and then get yourself out.

* * *

His footsteps were way too loud as he ran through the corridors, loud and frantic, his shoes slapping on the floor. As he ran, he saw a Fire Alarm in the distance and he smashed his fist against it, shattering the glass and pulled the red handle as hard as he could. It broke off in his hand and the air was alive with the shriek of sirens. His employees were emerging from offices and the lab, blinking in confusion, but they obediently moved as one towards the fire exits. They were escaping. They were safe. But he needed to get himself out.

The corridor was clear in seconds, just him and the sirens that tore through his brain. His spider-sense was beating a path along his spine, filling him with anxiety, like needle-pricks dotting a line down his body. He flinched, feeling droplets of water hit his head. The sprinklers were activated.

Maybe the water would confuse Wade, or impair his vision?

Peter ran through endless, stretching corridors, realising with horror that he was getting lost in his own building. But he hadn’t had it long, and his brain was so muddled and the alarm was screeching through him, it sounded like a pterodactyl’s cry.

He froze. He didn’t need precognition to know Wade was right behind him. Water was still flowing from the ceiling, slicking his hair to his forehead and sticking to his shirt. He turned. Very slowly.

Wade yelled something but it was swallowed by the alarms and Peter shook his head desperately. He was backing away from the merc, a foolish gesture but he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t control his own feet. His feet wanted to get away, it wasn’t him.

Wade’s gun was in his hand faster than Peter could blink. Oddly, he didn’t feel any pain as it hit him in the leg. Oh, he saw the flash of movement (a flying bullet), felt a vague impact in his leg and looked down dazedly to see brilliant, red blood bloom across his pants leg. Red and vibrant as rose petals, red as Spider-Man’s mask, as red as Deadpool’s mask. That…that was a lot of blood.

His head was so fuzzy, like it was disconnected from the rest of his body. His head was too heavy for his neck, he needed to rest, and his legs thought so too, because they buckled. He dropped painfully to his knees, still gazing down at that beautiful sweep of red. It was paler now, washed away by the water. Everything felt so cold and wet.

But Wade was advancing, his boots stomping through the puddles, droplets of water arcing off his shoulders and his gun. He was like some action movie hero, Peter thought, he was like the Terminator.

Fear propelled him into action and he tried wildly to put some space between them, everything would be okay as long as Deadpool couldn’t touch him! Everything. He was Spider-Man, he _always_ escaped, sometimes by a hair’s breadth but he always got away and this, what he was doing now, crawling backwards on his elbows with the seat of his pants wet and his hair in his eyes…it wasn’t Spider-Man. It wasn’t what Spider-Man would do. Spider-Man would stand up and fight. But Spider-Man didn’t have that big rush of blood gushing out of his leg.

The alarm cut out but the water still rained down on them.

“Okay, can you stop with the crawling thing? This is embarrassing for both of us.”

He reached down and snagged Peter by the collar, trying to haul him up. Peter spluttered at the fabric tightening around his neck, his spider-senses thrumming and, acting purely on instinct, brought his knee up and kicked between Wade’s legs. Kicked _hard._ Wade staggered back, falling to his knees.

The gun was hanging loosely from his fingers and Peter ripped it from his grasp. The safety was off and he started firing, Wade’s chest, his leg, missed him by an inch and knocked out a chunk of wall out and then shot his _face_.

Every shot drove Wade back, but he was still surging forward, blindly stumbling with his mask askew. His jaw was revealed, pink and raw and...broken. Hanging from his head, ragged strips of pink flesh swinging like ribbons. Peter aimed again and managed to get a good shot, puncturing one white mesh eyehole. Blood poured out, turning the white to red.

“You mother _fucker!_ ” Wade slurred, his arms stretching out towards Peter, fingers clawing. He seemed to have trouble with depth perception, working on half-power with one eye out of commission.

But. He. Still. Kept. Coming.

He was _unstoppable._ Staggering on like a zombie, arms reaching, moaning feebly through a splintered jaw.

Peter abandoned the gun and tried to run, instead. It was more of a rapid limp, but he was getting that precious distance that he needed, Wade’s pained groans were growing fainter, he blinked water out of his eyes, running, his shoes squeaking on the floor, had to get away, he was so close, he could see the fire door—

The sole of his shoe slipped on the slick linoleum and his foot came out from under him, he felt himself falling backwards, limbs thrashing madly, until he slammed down on the floor, his head smacking down. He lay there, stunned, trying to move but a shadow was falling over him. Wade. Rivulets of water were streaming down the red leather and one intact white eye was focused on Peter’s face. There was no cruel muzzle of a gun pointing at him. Wade dropped to his knees gracefully, his injuries almost fully recovered. He reached for Peter’s head, his fingers gently sliding in his hair, twisting in the curls.

“No, no, no, no,” Peter panted but Wade’s grip was iron, and his head was forcibly turning, his vision blurring, he tried to fight it, but Wade was too strong. 

The last thing he heard was the sick snap of his neck.

* * *

**DAY 3**

_“Well you didn't wake up this morning 'cause you didn't go to bed, you were watching the whites of your eyes turn red—”_

His fist slammed down on the alarm and it shattered instantly. Peter glared up at the ceiling and rolled out of bed.

His neck ached but that was to be expected. This was no dream, huh?

Peter may be a dork but he was no fool. And he’d watched too many time loop movies not to be able to identify one when he saw one. In the movies, there was usually some grand message that the character had to learn. They have to learn to be kinder or more patient or some other sanctimonious crap. But Peter had no clue what he was supposed to learn. Two separate days of getting murdered by Wade Wilson had taken their toll on him. He wasn’t going to allow Wade to kill Peter Parker for the third time.

_Third time’s the charm, right?_

Peter didn't go to work that day. He knew that if he did, he’d be staring down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by his best friend, Wade Wilson. He didn’t know why exactly Wade was so convinced that Peter Parker wasn’t as innocent as Spider-Man said he was. But Wade was a surprisingly good judge of character and he must have sensed that Peter Parker, CEO of Parker Industries, was hiding something. He wasn’t wrong. **  
**

Peter wasn’t about to let Wade storm into Parker Industries though. He might harm innocent civilians. He didn’t want to get Wade arrested but his buddy wasn’t exactly leaving him with many choices. So, he called in an anonymous tip that an armed hitman was going to storm into Parker Industries at 9:20 AM. He called in sick. Then, he waited. He sat with the television on, flipping through the news channels obsessively. **  
**

9:20 AM came and went. At 10:45, he was still sitting by the screen when he caught sight of a news correspondent standing in front of a familiar building. ****

“Gotcha. Bet those handcuffs don’t feel so great, huh, Wade?” Peter muttered, spamming the volume button. ****

“At 8:00 AM this morning, Queens police received an anonymous tip-off that a masked, armed hitman was going to infiltrate Parker Industries. The employees knew nothing about this and the CEO, Peter Parker called in absent today, citing illness as the reason. At 9:20 AM, a man calling himself Deadpool forced his way past reception and onto the upper floors of the building, demanding to be taken to Peter Parker. Police had already sent the employees home and were waiting to detain the attacker. Some officers were in plain clothes, dressed as employees and others were in uniform or riot gear, stationed in the stairwells. Deadpool shot his way out of the building, evading capture. As it stands, there are eight fatalities and eleven casualties with more bodies being recovered.”

The screen changed to show the chief of police giving a statement. Peter switched off the television and ran to the bathroom. He barely made it in time before he was heaving over the bowl. He’d saved himself. But at what cost?

Peter kept his phone switched off, and avoided logging on to the internet. He was expecting the police to come looking for him, but they were probably overwhelmed by the casualties. Fending off reporters, notifying the next of kin. **  
**

There was nobody to go to for help. Usually, when Peter had a problem, he’d go to Deadpool. But Deadpool _was_ the problem. ****

“I’m completely alone,” Peter whispered. ****

There was a knock on the door.

* * *

“Mr Parker? It’s the police. We’d like to ask you some questions about an incident at Parker Industries.” The voice was gruff but not unfriendly.   
  


Peter didn’t reply. Maybe if he stayed silent, they'd think he wasn't home. He pressed his palm to his lips and held his breath. ****

“Mr Parker? Sir? We’d like to speak to you. We’ve made an arrest. We’d like you to identify him, and tell us if he is the man who has been harassing you.” ****

Not even daring to breathe, Peter crept to the door. The man’s shadow could be seen under the crack. He took a glance through the peephole. ****

He could make out a heavy navy jacket with a patch on the shoulder. He sighed in relief. ****

He took the chain off the door and pulled it open. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.” ****

“No,” the officer said, walking over the threshold. His uniform was clean and neatly pressed, but there was something wrong with his face. “It’s really not.” ****

Deadpool threw the cap off his head, his scarred face contorted into a grin and started _shooting._

* * *

Peter fled, ran to the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind him, and locked it. There was chaos behind him, gunshots, Wade stamping a path of destruction through his apartment, kicking furniture out of the way. He looked but there was nothing to use to barricade it. The sink was fastened to the wall and floor. It was the only thing he could use. He grabbed itand wrenched it with all his super-strength, feeling it rip from its bolts. Water spurted out of the pipes but Peter didn’t care. He wedged the sink under the door and ran to the window. ****

Stupid, tiny window, he’d never fit through there, not even if he curled up. Wade was hammering on the door, shouting something incomprehensible. ****

Why did he have to leave his fucking phone in the living room? He managed to get the window open. His spider-sense was screaming, the hairs on the back of his neck rising, goosebumps breaking out on the flesh of his arms. The animal senses that alerted him to danger also blinded him, by filling him with panic and making him stupid and sloppy. He couldn’t see a way out of this other than that idiotic little window. He got his head out of it, standing on the bath for balance and screamed. Screamed for help, for somebody to save him. But there was an almighty smash and the door fell off its hinges. ****

Wade shoved the sink out of his way and then his gloved hands were clawing at Peter, pulling him away from the window. Peter swung and smacked, kicked and bit, but it was an enclosed space and Wade’s bulk was an advantage. Wherever Peter tried to go, Wade was there. He was holding Peter like a doll, smacking his head against the wall, the toilet, the side of the bath, as if he could beat the fight out of him. Between the aching pain and his panicked senses, Peter’s perception had narrowed into a single point, dimming at the edges.

* * *

He was submerged in water. Cold water. He was cold. His clothes were sticking to him like a second skin, and when he tried to take a breath, water filtered into his mouth, making him cough. Wade’s face was distorted through the water but his hands were firm, gripping Peter’s head, holding him down. ****

It took a couple of seconds for Peter to work out where he was and bizarrely, it was the tiny chain rubbing against his neck that clued him in. _The bath._ He was lying in the _bath_ and Wade was holding him down. Wade took one hand off him to fumble with something and then there was more cold water, streams of it, coursing out of the pipes, rolling over Peter’s face like a wave. Water was sloshing in his ears, his eyes, flooding his mouth. He squirmed, tried to pry Wade’s hands off him but his grip was slippery and Wade must have climbed into the bath too, because his knees were digging into Peter’s stomach. The water felt like knives on his skin but his mind was pleasantly empty, as if his brain was a balloon, floating far above them. He wondered what it would see. Peter in the bath with his feet hanging over the edge, Wade kneeling over him, keeping Peter down. With every jolt of water, Peter felt his brain flying further and further away and as blackness overtook him, he felt his body flying too.

* * *

**DAY 4**

_“Well you didn't wake up this morning 'cause you didn't go to bed, you were watching the whites of your eyes turn red—”_

Peter sat up in bed and shivered. He still had a fleeting impression of cold water and Wade’s merciless grip. It had felt so visceral and so intimate. It was a powerful thing, killing a person with your own hands. Although the water had done most of it. He wanted to burrow in warm blankets, maybe with his hot water bottle at his feet, but he had to move. Wade would be at Peter’s work soon, and when he realised his mark wasn’t there, he’d go storming to Peter’s apartment. Peter didn’t bother calling the police this time. There didn’t seem to be any point. ****

Peter Parker was weak, pathetic. But Spider-Man was a force to be reckoned with. Despite all his dumb jokes, Deadpool respected Spider-Man. He might listen to him. ****

“It’s worth a shot,” Peter said as he wrestled into his costume. “It’s not like I’ve got any other ideas.”

* * *

When he was dressed, he put the rest of his plan into motion and gathered supplies. There didn’t seem to be any point in leaving the apartment, because he knew that’s where Wade would eventually end up. Peter called work, informing them that he had a personal emergency and would be late. Then, he waited.

Wade blew through Peter’s apartment like a hurricane. Peter hadn’t called the police so there wouldn’t be any wild shootout. This meant that Wade wouldn’t have picked up a police uniform off one of the officers he’d killed (a fact that had occurred to Peter as he was suiting up) and so, wouldn’t be repeating the trick where he pretended to be a cop. Instead, Wade kicked the door down, his leather boot splintering the door a few times before it gave way. Peter’s senses were telling him to leave but he ignored them, and calmly sat on his bed as he heard Wade crashing about in the next room. ****

“Peter, Peter, where are youuuu? I just wanna taaaaalk!” His footsteps were getting louder, he was right outside the door. Peter wondered if he would be masked or not. He could hear so much, he was so aware of the man’s presence. The clomping of boots, the thump of his katanas on his back, his heavy breathing. ****

The door swung open and a black-and-red mask peered in. ****

“Aha!” Wade cried, pointing his gun. Peter didn’t flinch. He could tell the exact moment Wade realised who he was aiming at, because Wade dropped the weapon and ran over. ****

“Spidey!” Wade squealed, throwing himself at his friend. Peter allowed Wade to embrace him, an enormous bear hug, tight and warm and _comforting,_ despite the circumstances. Peter knew he was safe as long as he was in the mask, so he allowed himself a moment to relax, to lean in, and accept it for what it was: a greeting between two dear friends. “Aw, Spidey’s feeling cuddly today. If I’d known you were gonna be like that, I would have worn my aftershave.” ****

“Hi, Wade,” ****

“You sound off. Are you okay, boo? I’ve missed you, feels like it’s been pages since we last hung out.” ****

“You mean _ages,_ ” ****

“Uhh...yeah, of course, I do,” Wade said sheepishly. “So, how have you been doing?” ****

“I’m okay but I think we need to talk.” ****

“Oh God, is this breakup speech? Please don’t let this be the breakup speech. I’m not ready. Unless — ooh, are you _coming out_ to me? Is this the coming out speech? Because that would be amazing. It’s the premise of at least three fanfics I've written about you.” ****

“Wade, we both know why you’re here. Peter Parker.” ****

Wade fiddled with one of his many straps. The gesture was almost shy. “You heard about that, huh?” ****

“I’m sitting here in his house, of course I heard...” ****

“I don’t s’pose you’ve decided you want to work with me on this one? Tag-team it?” ****

Peter folded his arms. “You mean kill him?” ****

“You don’t have to say it like _that,_ ” he whined. ****

“I can’t believe you, ‘Pool! All that talk about wanting to do the right thing and stop killing, and now you’re planning to mow down an innocent man!”

“INNOCENT?” Wade roared. “Oh, he’s got you wrapped around his little finger, hasn’t he? He’s a good actor, I’ll give him that. But he is so full of shit he squeaks. _Innocent._ Please! He’s skeevy, I’m sure of it.” ****

Peter watched him pace up and down the room, kicking objects out of his path. ****

“Parker Industries is crooked. I don’t have proof. Yet. Nothing that would make The Avengers get on board. But Spidey, you should see the stuff I’ve uncovered so far. Cybernetics, dude. These freaky-looking experiments. Eeevil stuff. They’re up to no good. I feel it in my balls. They could be—” Wade said and swallowed audibly. “—they could be experimenting on mutants. Once I waste that Parker guy, I’m gonna dismantle that organisation and make it go public.” ****

“Wade,” Peter began. Wade looked at him, or the mask did, at least. “I know it looks bad but you have to believe me. Peter Parker is not a bad guy. You can trust him. We both can.” ****

“He used to take photos of you for that crappy paper, didn’t he?” Wade said. At Peter’s nod, he laughed. “Yeah, I bet you loved getting that attention from a pretty, little thing like him. He has got you _bent,_ man. Jeez. You used to have teeth. Where is he now? Have you hidden him? If I look under the bed, am I going to see Parker all curled up like a Real Doll?” ****

“Peter Parker isn’t here, Wade. And my relationship with him is purely professional—” Peter started to say, but Wade shook his head. ****

“Save it,” he growled. “You mind stepping aside? I gotta do some sleuthin’. There might be a clue to where he is. Or who I can use to get to him.” ****

“No. I’m not letting you do this.” ****

“Stand aside, Webs. Don’t make me fight you. It’ll be really dramatic and homoerotically-charged and I don’t want to have to unalive Parker while I've got a raging boner. He’ll think I’m a creep.” ****

“Then leave. Drop the hit. Just let this one guy go, that’s all I’m asking you to do.” ****

“Spidey, baby, love ya, but you know I can’t do that. This shit is bigger than both of us. Tell you what, one more kill and I’m outta the game for good. I’ll be your padawan, you can teach me how to be like you. I _want_ to be good. But I gotta get this. Just this one guy. He’s evil. He’s...I think he’s another Francis.” ****

 _Oh, Wade._ ****

“You really believe that, don’t you?” ****

“I do,” Wade said softly. ****

Peter sighed and Wade hung his head. “It’s okay, Deadpool. Come here.” ****

Wade stumbled over to him and dropped to his knees by the bed. His whole body was tight, weighed down with tension. Even his shoulders were slumped. The guy was radiating misery, it was coming off him in waves and Peter hated the fact that he felt pity for him. Wade was such a stubborn bastard, why did he have to assume he knew best? Why couldn’t he just listen to Spider-Man? Peter felt a twinge of regret, or maybe apprehension since Peter hadn’t actually done anything yet. But he had to try. Wade had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve and it was something that Peter could exploit. ****

Peter was sat on the foot of the bed with his feet on the floor and he pulled Wade to him, letting the man rest his head on Peter’s lap. He often compared Wade to a big dog, in his mind. A big powerful body with a reckless, impulsive brain. A deep need for affection hidden behind razor-sharp claws. He gently stroked Wade’s face, tracing the black lines of the mask. Wade shivered but he let him. He’d let Spider-Man do anything to him. ****

“Spidey, I hate letting you down,” Wade whispered. “But this is something I gotta do. You get that...right?” ****

“I do. I don’t like it but if you say the guy’s shady, then maybe he is,” Wade looked up and there was a change in his energy. A faint ray of hope. “I mean, maybe he’s changed since I knew him,” Peter went on. It was very surreal, speaking about himself in the third person like this. “But we’ll do this together. What was it you said? We’ll tag-team this one. I won’t kill him. I can’t. But I’ll help you restrain him.” ****

“You mean it? Oh, this is huge! Thanks, buddy, I knew I could count on you. You’ll restrain him, huh? How are you planning to do that?” ****

 _Good, he’s distracted._ “Oh, I’ll put his hands behind his back.” Peter said. He plucked up Wade’s gloved hands and crossed them behind Wade’s back. His arms were enormous and heavy as logs. He held his wrists in place. Their faces were very close now. Wade was panting through his mask again. ****

“Maybe I’ll use something to tie him up,” Peter leant down and pulled up a belt he'd stowed under the bed. He’d placed it there earlier but hopefully, Wade wouldn’t dwell on it. He reached behind Wade’s back again, easily tying his wrists together. Wade got to his feet with his hands still tied behind his back and Peter turned him, by the shoulders, and gave him a hard shove on the chest. Wade fell on the bed, heavily, making the springs squeak in alarm, but he didn’t fight it. ****

“Spidey,” he breathed, as Peter crawled on the mattress after him. It was easy to straddle Wade’s waist and pin him down by the shoulders with his hands. ****

“I don’t think a simple belt would keep him here for long, though. What do you think?” ****

“Uh, maybe not. You got somethin’ stronger?” Wade croaked, his voice a strangled gasp in his throat. ****

Peter opened up the drawer in the nightstand, taking out a bundle of shiny metal. He could tell the second Wade clocked sight of it, because the merc let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Our friend likes to get freaky. These are good handcuffs.” ****

“I always thought your costume needed some jewellery...” Peter muttered and Wade laughed helplessly. ****

Wade was so _willing,_ sitting forward so Peter could slip the belt off and replace it with two shiny pairs of cuffs instead. As far as he knew, Wade didn’t have enhanced strength, so these should be fine. He had two pairs. He attached the end of each one to a bed railing and the other end to Wade’s wrist. They slotted around Wade’s wrists perfectly. After a second’s hesitation, Peter tied Wade’s ankles together with the belt. Safer to cover all bases. ****

Peter leant forward and gently pressed a kiss through his mask to Wade’s mouth. He could feel it, the vague outline of lips through layers of material, the way Wade strained against his shackles so that their bodies could get closer. ****

Wade was whispering “Please, please, please…” under his breath as if he could barely believe this was happening. Peter wondered if he had his eyes open or closed. With one move, Peter grabbed a katana in each hand, pulling in from its sheath and flung them away to the edge of the room. Wade’s guns followed suit. ****

Wade made a faint sound of dismay. Could have been because he’d been disarmed or could have been because Peter had stopped kissing him. ****

“There. That should do it!” Peter told him, with satisfaction. He climbed off the bed, the mattress rocking below him. The springs were silent now. “You can lie here and think about why you wanted to murder an innocent scientist, while I go and help Peter.”

“You BASTARD!” Wade roared. He was incensed now, throwing himself around the bed, rattling the cuffs. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT, HE’S EVIL! SPIDER-MAN!”

But Peter was out of the window and far away from Deadpool.

* * *

He changed into work clothes, stowing his Spider-Man suit into the gym bag he’d packed earlier. He was able to make it into work not too late, and anyway, he’d already told them to expect him in at a later time today. ****

He tried not to think of Wade, furious and chained up on Peter’s bed. Or what he’d had to do to make Wade willingly let himself be restrained. It must have felt like a slap in the face to his friend. Wade had made no secret of the fact that he desired Spider-Man, but was perfectly content with their friendship. ****

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about the six-foot-two problem in his bed. Hopefully, by the end of the day, his brain would have generated a solution. That’s what he told himself as he got stuck into his work. It would be okay in the end.

Except it wasn’t. Peter’s spider-sense tingled even before he heard the cries and slap of running feet. His employees were scattering, running for cover. Peter stood in the lab, silent and unmoving. He could run, he could fight. But this was going to keep happening. ****

When Wade burst into the room, it felt like fate. ****

He was still dressed as Deadpool, but the outfit was soaked in blood. Wade strode over, his boots thumping on the floor and there was a quiet rage that hadn’t been there before. This was personal. ****

“I’m going to enjoy this.” Wade told him. At least Peter’s workers had time to run away. ****

As Wade drew nearer, Peter saw two things. One, Wade had his arm curled protectively around a small object. And two, he was missing one of his hands. It was like his arm ended at the sleeve, although blood dripped sluggishly down his body. The bottom half of his mask was soaked in red too. No, the bottom-half was rolled up. That was his _jaw_ that was stained red. ****

“Had to chew my own hand off to get to you,” Wade said cheerfully. “That was smart, enlisting Spider-Man’s help. You’ve got friends in high places, don’t you, rich boy? _But_ _that won’t save you.”_ He brought the object, clutched to his chest like it was something precious to his mouth, and tore something off it with his teeth. Then lobbed the object to Peter like it was a volleyball. Peter automatically caught it, his reflexes acting before he could think.

It was small, khaki green, a little bigger than a lemon. Peter stared at it. Realised what it was. “Oh, fuuuuu—”

_Kaboom._

* * *

**DAY ????**

He was losing track of time. Despite the nightly bursts of sleep, it felt like he was slogging through one long day. It felt like Finals week when you’re surviving on ramen, the occasional pack of chips and endless cups of coffee. Replacing the blood in your veins with caffeine, and you’re falling asleep at your desk and thinking constantly about coursework and exams. And time seems to move differently but your peers are struggling, too. But Peter was struggling alone. ****

The only thing he could use to track how many days had passed were the methods Wade used to kill him. He’d been shot, had his neck broken, had been drowned, blown up by a grenade, had been thrown down an empty elevator shaft (Peter had given up on fighting and had instead run through an abandoned warehouse, with Wade doggedly following him) and even decapitated. The worst one was when Wade and he had been fighting and Peter had escaped into the road, right into the path of an oncoming truck. As he lay there, winded, his mouth filling with blood, Wade had stood over his body and actually _facepalmed._ The phrase ‘own goal’ sprang to mind. ****

“No more cheap deaths,” Peter told himself as he threw on his clothes. He didn’t bother with a suit, he wasn’t going into work. “That bastard isn’t getting one more cheap death out of me.” ****

The problem was that Peter had no way to reason with Wade, without revealing his secret identity. Apparently, Deadpool trusted Spider-Man but didn’t trust Spider-Man’s trust in Peter (Peter rolled his eyes), and he’d already tried convincing him of Peter Parker’s innocence. Another issue was that this wasn’t a simple mercenary gig. Wade hadn’t been paid to do this, he was taking it on as a personal mission, so it wasn’t like Peter could pay off Wade’s employer or something. Peter could go to ground, try to hide and wait it out, but Wade was persistent and NOT the CEO of a busy company, so he had lots of spare time. Besides, Peter had a lot of work to do, he couldn’t take a vacation right now. And if he stayed away from the company, Wade would still stake it out. If Peter stayed away, he’d be putting his employees at risk. Wade might even harm one of them so they’d give him information. He couldn’t put anybody at risk. He had to face this on his own.

Hours later, as he stood, impaled on a katana and pinned to the wall like a butterfly, he considered his life choices.

* * *

**Day ?????????????????????????????????**

_“Well you didn't wake up this morning 'cause you didn't go to bed, you were watching the whites of your eyes turn red—”_

Peter sighed. He’d already broken the alarm clock fifteen times before, by his estimation. But it was always perfectly-restored the next morning. He didn’t jump right out of bed today because he couldn’t. His body felt like it was encased in lead. He’d always wanted a weighted blanket, had read about them in magazines but if they felt as heavy as this, then no thanks.

He lay there, gathering strength and let the song play out. Might as well get used to it, he was going to be listening to it for the rest of his life.

_“This is the day your life will surely change…”_

He began to laugh and maybe there was a touch of hysteria to it.

* * *

He has to crawl out of bed. The blankets feel like sheets of steel, locking him in. It takes both hands to push them off his body, and he wishes he could rest for a few seconds, but time is in short supply these days. This day.

He sinks to his knees the moment he attempts to stand, and he has to clutch at the headboard to keep his balance.

Getting suited up feels like torture. Is this what it feels like to be old? Your own body fighting you, your fingers refusing to bend as you jam your hands into your gloves.

But at last, every inch of Peter Parker is hidden, protected. All that’s left is Spider-Man.

Getting dressed takes the last of his energy and as he sinks back onto the mattress, he tells himself he’s just resting his eyes for five minutes…just five minutes…

* * *

“Spidey? What are you doing here, buddy?” ****

“Wade…” Peter croaked and his voice sounded like his throat was stuffed with sawdust. ****

“Whoa, whoa, don’t try to get up. You’re hurt.” Wade’s gloved hands fluttered around Peter’s face like nervous butterflies.

“How’d you know?” ****

“Look at you. You can barely move. Spidey, what’s happened to you?” ****

“Got...murdered...few times.”

“ _What?_ ” ****

“Someone’s...trying to...kill me…” ****

“Who? Who tried to kill you?” Wade’s voice had taken on that dangerous softness. The quiet rage that he so rarely showed. That was when you had to fear Deadpool. When the jokes dried up and his voice went soft. It would be sweet if it wasn’t so misguided. ****

“Doesn’t matter…” ****

“It fucking does! Who is it, I’ll kill them! Tell me, a name, anything, Spidey, please!” ****

Peter shook his head. Even that little gesture tired him, and the red-and-black of Wade’s mask swam in his eyes. “I think...it’s too late…”

“No, NO! Spidey, just — hold on. I’ll get Dr Banner or — or Stark or Professor X or somebody! Just wait, I’ll get somebody to help you!" **  
**

He didn’t want Wade to leave. Wade was here and he was holding Peter so gently as if Peter was something precious that needed to be treasured. He grabbed at Wade’s chest, at one of the many straps that encircled it, hooking his fingers in it. Keeping him connected to him.

“Don’t go…” ****

“No, Spidey, please, don’t die, oh my God, don’t die, not _you,_ I can’t lose _you,_ please—” ****

“I wanna see your face…” ****

“No, you need to just, just hold on, I’ll call someone...” ****

“Wade. Please?” ****

Wade roughly yanked his own mask off his face. So desperate to appease Spider-Man. There he was. Those lovely eyes, that strong jaw, the pink, mottled skin. ****

Why were Wade’s eyes wet? Shouldn’t he be happy? He was holding Spider-Man. Peter huffed out a breath that tasted metallic, for some reason. Wade was never satisfied. ****

“Wade…take mine off?” ****

“No, you don’t know what you’re saying, I’m gonna get you some help, Spidey, a bit of sci-fi tech and Dr Banner and you’re be scaling the walls in no time—” ****

“No time,” Peter repeated but he meant something different. “No time. Please. I want you to see me.”

“Okay,” Wade whispered and then his fingers were fumbling with the catch on Peter’s neck. The air felt good on Peter’s cheeks as Wade rolled the mask up. He was moving so slowly, inching the mask back so slowly, so afraid of hurting Peter. Pity he hadn’t exercised that much caution in the previous God-knows-how-long. But caution wasn’t Wade’s style.

At last, Peter could blink up at Wade without the mesh eyes getting in the way. All this time, he’d thought Wade would be happy to finally see his face. He’d begged him so much. But he’d never seen Wade look more horrified. ****

Wade was saying something but Peter could only catch the cadences. He struggled to listen.

“No, you — you’re not, you, you can’t be... _Peter?_ ”

“Hi, Wade…” Peter mumbled, and chuckled. He coughed and felt something warm and wet dribble down his lips. Whoops. He should have worn red pyjamas. ****

“Fuck, you’re bleeding, hang on, I need, oh shit, what do I do?”

Wade clutched Peter to his chest like a teddy bear. It kind of felt nice but he was squashing Peter’s ribs. “No, please, don’t go…Peter...”

Peter felt bad. Wade was sad. Had Peter made him sad? “Don’t be sad…” he told him.

Maybe the sun had gone behind the clouds because everything looked much dimmer. And that was okay, because Peter’s eyelids felt so heavy and he should probably have a rest. Wade was here and he’d look after him.

* * *

_“No, I don’t know where I’m going, but I sure know where I've been…”_

Oh, hey, a new song. Good. Peter was getting really sick of _The The._ At least it looked like a nice day. Morning sunlight was streaming through his blinds, bathing everything in a warming, golden glow. **  
**

He could think. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? And he could feel. He still felt like he’d been in a boxing match with The Hulk, but at least he was breathing. His whole body throbbed with pain but he welcomed it. Anything was better than that dull emptiness he’d felt as he drifted off last night.

He could hear sniffling but when he inhaled, his nose felt dry. Weird. 

There was a heavy lump by his nightstand, red-and-black and very familiar.

The lump was moving. ****Peter poked it with an arm that felt like jello.

“Hi?” Peter said uncertainly. ****

“Peter, you're alive!” Wade gasped. Wade’s pink, tear-stained face gazed up at him and eww! Wade had snot bubbling out of his nose. Okay, the guy’s an ugly crier. Good. Let him feel bad for killing Peter in increasingly-inventive ways for the past few weeks.

“I took your suit off. I’m sorry. I dressed you in your civilian clothes. I thought I was gonna have to call the coroner’s office to come pick you up. I thought you wouldn’t want people knowing Spider-Man is d-dead.”

It was true. If Peter died, he’d want Spider-Man to live on in some form. He didn’t like to think what the criminals of Queens would be like if they knew their adversary was no more. **  
**

“I tried to kill you, didn’t I? It was me.” His lip trembled as he suppressed a sob.

“You certainly gave it your best shot. Literally.” Peter said drily.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry!”

“I know!”

“I’m sorry,” Wade said again. “I almost killed the man I—” he broke off and i ****t was then that Peter noticed dried blood sticking to the side of Wade’s face.

“Did you shoot yourself?”

Wade ducked his head down. “I didn’t want to be around if you weren’t here. I knew it wouldn’t last for long but I — I just didn’t want to be here, Spidey.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. It’s, it’s fucked up. What happened, man? How could I try to kill you and not even be able to remember it?” ****

Peter took a breath. “Have you ever seen _Groundhog Day?”_ ****

Wade squinted through his tears. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not. It’s a time loop. Every day, I woke up, went to work. And every day, you killed me. Shot me, stabbed me, snapped my neck,” he said and chuckled. “Threw a grenade at me.” ****

Wade winced. ****

“And every day, I woke up and it was the same day. The same day, but everything was a little bit different.” ****

“I’m—” ****

“If you say ‘I’m sorry’ again, I’m going to web you to the wall.” It was an empty threat, they both knew it. Peter was weak as a kitten right now. ****

“You couldn’t do that; you’re not wearing your web slingers,” Wade said quietly. He looked up, met Peter's eyes. “I don’t want to kill anymore. I, I almost took _Spider-Man_ out of the world. I almost killed _Peter Parker._ It’s not, I mean, I don’t want that much power anymore. It isn’t right for me to decide who lives and who dies.”

“I think you’re right. I don’t think anybody should have that power. I…could teach you. If you want. How to fight crime without breaking out the katanas.” ****

“You’d be willing to help me after I almost snuffed you out?” ****

“What can I say? I’m a nice guy.” ****

Wade laughed wetly, fresh tears flowing down his cheeks. “You are. You really are. I love that about you!”

“Wade,” Peter said and Wade’s laughter died away. Wade gazed up at him from his position on the floor. So earnestly. “I forgive you.”

Wade’s face was red and puffy, his nose was snotty but the raw hope shining in his eyes was nothing short of beautiful. “Thank you, Spidey. I don’t deserve it but…thank you. I promise I’ll change. I’ll be somebody deserving of your friendship.”

“I know you will, Wade,” Peter said, absently patting him on the shoulder. “I know you will.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you spot any errors, please let me know and I'll fix it. And if you liked the fic, I'd love it if you could let me know in the comments!


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